A head start

I was delighted to read this in the NY Times this morning, again confirming that running and pregnancy go hand-in-hand, and hopefully Ryder will reap the benefits for many years to come.

Running around

The verb "run" has taken on a new meaning in the last few weeks: most of the "running" I'm doing these days is within the confines of my apartment or around the Upper West Side, and involves a lot of back-and-forth between changing pads, bassinets, and nursing pillows. While this post must be kept short and sweet (like my +1), I thought it best to update it now while I at least have a few moments to spare (which are also short and sweet these days).

I went for the last 4.5 mile run of my pregnancy on December 31 and, on January 1, it became clear that it was "show time." One day later, on January 2, Zdenek and I welcomed Ryder into the world. He performed well during the event, and weighed in at a perfect seven pounds. (And I guess it turns out that all that extra mileage didn't mean a girl, after all.)

Mommy recovered very quickly and headed back out for power walks within the first week. Twelve days after giving birth, I headed out for my first post-baby run. All things considered, it felt pretty good (though I was somewhat disappointed to discover that any weight lost around my belly seems to have migrated to my chest), and I was pleasantly surpised to find myself running just over 8 minutes/mile on the first go. Since then, I've run several more times (when Baba is around to watch the little guy) and can comfortably run 6 or 7 miles in 8:30-8:40 minutes/mile. To run further, I'll either have to wait until Ryder can go longer between feedings or until I can run a whole lot faster! For now, I'm satisfied with my quick rebound to running health, and I'm already looking forward to my next seven miler on Saturday.

After Baba leaves, Daddy and Mommy will have to run individually again so that someone can stay home with Ryder. It goes without saying that I will definitely miss both of the training partners who have accompanied me on almost every run and ride over the past nine months.

We are family

To borrow a phrase that Zdenek used recently, all is (still) quiet on the Eastern front. The +1 seems to be enjoying his/her current abode, and has made no indications that he/she is ready to face life in the Big Apple outside the comfort of my uterus. It could still be a long haul from here. I'm due tomorrow, but don't feel anything close to it.

In fact, I'm feeling remarkably good, and as a result, Zdenek and I have enjoyed a lovely "staycation" together this week. It's the first Christmas we've spent apart from our families, but, as Zdenek reminded me last week, we are family. And so we've indulged in a week of great baking, cooking, and eating; logging 8-9 hours of sleep each night; strolls through the piles of snow that fell on Boxing Day; daily runs in Central Park together (I'm still running 4-5 miles each day in sub-10 minute/mile pace!); shopping and movies (we've now seen every major contender for this year's Best Picture); and one very lavish lunch at one of New York's finest establishments. Best of all, unlike some vacations, this one has been completely void of any arguments, drama, or stress.

Though one of the members hasn't been brave enough to show their face, this family has had a most memorable Christmas vacation together.

This is only a test

With the holidays fast approaching and my due date looming, Zdenek and I have been contemplating the “ideal” day to have the baby (as if we have any choice in the matter). An earlier arrival might suck for the little one who has to share his/her birthday with the Christmas holiday every year; on the other hand, it would be good timing from a work perspective for both Zdenek and me. A later arrival, however, means a few more days to enjoy life without a crying baby in the room, and sometimes this seems even more attractive than the 2010 tax credit we’d earn if the delivery day comes before the year is through.

Recently, though, I’ve been leaning towards “later is better,” if only because I feel entirely unprepared to look after a baby. I know what everyone says: You’re never ready. You’ll figure it out. Instinct takes over. Once it’s your baby, it will be totally different. But still, I can’t help but feel that, despite the hours of “baby care” classes in which we’ve invested and the books I’ve sifted through, I won’t really have a clue what I’m doing.

To frame things in a perspective to which I can relate, I’ve tried to compare the first few months of baby-rearing to running a marathon: I’ve done the work to get here. I’ve read the books and followed the plan. Now we’re in taper, and I’m starting to feel antsy and achy and unprepared. I start to question whether I should have put in a just a little more effort along the way, or if there’s anything I can do between now and game day to improve my chances of a strong performance. The coaches will tell me that there’s nothing more to be done; now I just need to give it my best effort. When race day arrives, adrenaline will probably get me through the first bit of the course. By the halfway point, a small bump in the road is going to feel like scaling Mount Everest. Two-thirds of the way in, I’ll start to question whether I’m cut out for this at all, and soon after that, self-doubt and exhaustion may lead me to swear under my breath that I will never, ever do this again. And then, I’ll somehow stumble across the finish line (often leaning over to one side), too tired to contemplate the feat I’ve just accomplished. Some time later, when I’m recovered and things are back on their usual schedule, I’ll marvel at the experience and remember the thrill of it all, and the suffering will have seemed a small price to pay for such a rewarding outcome. And so I’ll decide to do it again (perhaps even seven more times!).

Over the weekend, when I mentioned my self-doubts to Zdenek, he offered a different analogy: “Don’t you remember the feeling in university when you’d walk into an exam feeling totally unprepared and like you were going to bomb it, and you ended up acing it instead?” I don’t know if Zdenek feels as confident on the inside as he’s appearing to be on the outside, but either way, I’m glad that one of us isn’t stressing too much about this. Because at some point last night, when I again became overwhelmed by the daunting task that lies ahead of me, the only things that eventually lulled me back to sleep were Zdenek’s incredible patience and his calming words (if I haven’t mentioned it enough, let me again say that my husband is the world’s greatest). This morning, as he headed off to work, exhausted both physically and mentally but not complaining one bit, I told him that he had proven himself capable of soothing someone in the middle of the night and sacrificing his own sleep to so. By his own analogy, he had aced the test. Which makes me incredibly lucky to be in his study group.
---
P.S. Yes, I'm still running, and it still feels pretty darn good. I ran 6.5 miles in one shot on Saturday, but decided to stop there due to thirst (apparently dehydration brings on labor, but I try to restrict the liquids when I'm running). Here's a photo of me in my new running gear:

Does it have to be a competition?

This morning I enjoyed one of the easiest runs I’ve had in several weeks. I ran just over 4.5 miles without needing to stop once, and my pace was just shy of 9:30 min/mile. Of course, I felt like I was absolutely flying around Central Park -- it’s funny how 9:30 feels like 7:30 did only ten months ago. But I don’t mind; I anticipate I’ll have 7:30 days again at some point. On the weekend, I ran just over 6 miles on my own (at a bit slower pace and with a couple of walk breaks). By the end of it, I was still feeling strong and relatively light, and I almost considered tacking on another couple of miles. But then I figured that it’s better to quit while I’m ahead, because the last time I ran over seven miles I paid for it dearly. I’ll consider today’s run proof that my prudence did not go unrewarded.

I’m just over two weeks away from my due date and, to be honest, at times I get worried that perhaps I’m feeling too good (or rather, not poorly enough). Aside from a whole lot of kicking and squirming that can sometimes make me yelp out loud, I feel mostly fine. While I certainly prefer my non-pregnant state, I really don’t have much in the way of bloating/aches/pains/fatigue/inability to sleep. Of course, all of that could change at any moment (watch this space), but sometimes I think that maybe I should feel worse, because that would mean the baby is feeling better. Could this be true? Is it possible for us both to feel healthy and happy at the same time? Or is comfort (as sleep is sure to be in a few weeks) a zero-sum game between me and the +1?

Still going...

I am delighted to report that, at 36.5 weeks and only three days away from being officially “full term,” I am still running. This morning, despite grey skies and extremely windy, frigid weather, I was all too happy to be out there on the bridle path, looping the reservoir and breathing in the fresh air. I have been able to avoid the gym for almost a week now, and the longer I can stay away, the better.

Yes, it is slow running, but I think it’s still a moderately respectable 9:45-10 min/mile. True, I have to stop and walk from time to time and at very unpredictable intervals (sometimes I can go 15 minutes trouble-free, but sometimes I need another break after two minutes), but I figure that’s the least I can do for the sake of my internal organs. No, I’m not doing the distance to which I am accustomed, though I did manage 11 miles over the weekend (over two days, but who’s counting?) and four more this morning. And while I know I look extremely cumbersome / unattractive -- I wear some combination of Zdenek’s large running shirts, my tights, and a large support belt under my waist -- at this point, I am beyond caring. I’ve accepted that it has become (and will surely continue to be, even after the +1 arrives) a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, and taking it day by day.

Not with a bang but a whimper

I laughed out loud this morning reading a NY Times article about cycling and running injuries. The author, who compares the mental and physical tolls of cycling and running injuries, describes her recent cycling accident (emphasis mine):

My crash came 8.9 miles into a 100-mile ride (of course I knew the distance, because of course I was watching my bicycle computer). My friend Jen Davis was taking a turn leading; my husband, Bill, was drafting — riding close behind her. I was drafting Bill when a slower rider meandered into his path. Bill swerved and I hit his wheel. Down I went.

The first thing I did when I hit the ground was turn off my stopwatch — I did not want accident time to count toward our riding time. Then I sat on a curb, dazed. My head had hit the road, but my helmet saved me. My left thigh was so bruised it was hard to walk. Worst of all was a searing pain in my left shoulder. I could hardly move my arm. But since it hurt whether I rode or not, I decided, like an idiot, to finish the ride.

The next day I went to a doctor and learned, to my shock, that my collarbone was broken. Running is my sport, I thought, and no ride is worth this.

It appears that the author and I share more than our love of biking and running. We also seem to share an obsession with times and logs, and, of course, a sometimes tragic inability to know when to call it a day.

My own story began last Sunday during my usual long weekend run. I have happily kept up 30-40 miles per week through this whole pregnancy, and my long runs have averaged 10-12 miles without any apparent consequences (other than a voracious appetite). Beginning around week 25 (for the uninitiated, a pregnancy is meant to be 40 weeks), I started to think of my running in terms of weekly goals: Just get to week 26. Okay, see if you can still be running at week 27. Wouldn’t it be amazing to run 10K at week 30?

So there I was, at 34 weeks and a few days, enjoying some beautiful weather and the company of my husband in Central Park. Only the week prior I had run over 11 miles in one shot and felt great, and I had already put in 17 miles over the course of the current week, with a full rest day on Saturday. Sunday’s run was sure to be a breeze.

And it was, until about mile seven, when I stopped for a drink of water. Suddenly, I felt a stiff pain creep through my pelvis and down the fronts of my legs. I tried to start running again, but it took some time to get the gears going. Once I was moving, though, the pain went away, and I was running carefree for a couple more miles. But then, at the next water break, I again was overtaken by a crippling stiffness, bordering on pain. I started moving again, ever so slowly. Within a few hundred feet, I was feeling fine, and vowed to not stop again for the rest of the run. (In fact, when Zdenek and I needed to fill up our water bottles, I asked him to run ahead and do so quickly so that I wouldn’t need to break my stride.)

Over 10 miles later, I returned home for a pancake breakfast and cup of coffee. Everything seemed okay, until I tried to get up from the table and found that I couldn't. Once I finally did manage to prop myself up, I could barely walk. I spent the rest of Sunday immobile on the recliner until we finally made it out for a 20 minute walk at 6 pm at a pace that would be too slow for most 90 year-olds with walkers.

For the next three days, I rested completely, waiting for the ability to bend over to put on my socks to gradually return. On Thanksgiving Thursday, feeling mostly better, I headed out for a very cautious two mile “run,” but found myself once again in the chair for the rest of the day (this time even worse off than Sunday). For the following three days, I returned to the gym that I haven’t set foot in since May and set myself up on the elliptical machine for 45-50 minutes at a time. I tried to convince myself that I can enjoy working out indoors (I can’t, but I can tolerate it when I have no other option).

Fast forward to today and I am finally feeling 95% heeled. I rolled out of bed in the darkness of the early morning and ran another slow two miles (this time with Zdenek, who is battling his own injuries these days!). I confirmed that I can still run, but it’s at such a slow pace that it hardly seems worth it. I am actually at the point where I can get a far better workout inside four walls, and running isn’t as fun as it should be. While I might still log some miles between now and "the end," I'm guessing they will be few and slow. I suppose I overdid it, and now I have to pay the price.

But I take solace in the same NY Times article, in which the author goes on to say:

With running, even though I realize that I and others who got injured could not have prevented our injuries, somehow I blamed myself. It was “overuse,” even though overuse is apparent only in retrospect, as you cast about for a reason why you got injured.

Yes, I could have taken it easier and perhaps gotten three or four more weeks of increasingly slow running in return. Maybe if I had stopped when the pain kicked in at seven miles last week, I’d still be running three or more today. But the past eight months have been some of the most enjoyable and rewarding running I’ve ever known. Running frequently and long has kept me sane and happy and given me a sense of control that I thought pregnancy would surely rob me of. I never imagined I’d be in this kind of shape heading into the final stretch, and I’m thankful for every 10 mile run that got me here.

I got injured because I love running and how it makes me feel. And that's okay by me.

A steady heart

During the first few months of my pregnancy, I wore my heart rate monitor on every single run and bike ride, intrigued to see how my heart rate was responding now that so much was changing inside me, and, to some extent, to ensure that I didn’t push things too hard. After a while, though, it became apparent that every single workout was much like the last. My heart rate over a 60 minute bike ride averaged between 140 and 145, with peaks around 170 when climbing Harlem Hill; when running, my heart rate hovered consistently around 148 to 152. Combined with the fact that, after five years, my monitor is going a bit wonky and occasionally gets stuck on readings of 193 or zero, I’ve grown tired of wearing it in recent months.

Lately, though, I’ve become somewhat concerned that maybe I am running too fast or too far for a woman who is seven-and-a-half months pregnant. My doctor advised from day one to not focus on my heart rate but rather ensure that I can maintain a conversation throughout my workout. While I often run alone and have no one to talk to, Zdenek and I do chat for most of the time that we run together. This past Saturday, we ran over 11 miles in the lovely autumn weather, taking several breaks, but maintaining a conversation the entire way. I finished feeling much like I have after any other 11 mile run over the past five years.

Still, I’ve noticed that my pace hasn’t really slowed much over the past five or six months, and I’m always running around 9:00-9:30 minutes/mile. I don’t try to run quickly or slowly, but somehow I inevitably end up plodding along at roughly the same speed. Although I’ve grown bigger and rounder and marginally more uncomfortable, lately I’ve begun to wonder if perhaps I am pushing myself too hard. Maybe my heart rate has been up at 170 and I haven't even realized it? This seems hard to believe considering I barely break a sweat on half my runs, but, nevertheless, I thought it was worth checking in just to reassure myself.

So this morning, I strapped on my monitor and headed out the door. It was a picture-perfect morning for an autumn run in Central Park. Not only have the leaves fully turned to reds, yellows, and oranges, but strong winds last night left many of them strewn along the road, making it especially fun to kick through piles of gold under the early morning sun. (Truthfully, I was a little sad that Zdenek wasn’t able to join me this morning, because it was a run I know he would have enjoyed.) I ran an easy 4.5 miles, never pushing myself, stopping to drink water along the way. And then, when I finally hit the “stop” button, I looked down to see the results: 9:05 pace, 148 average heart rate.

When everything from the leaves to my body to my entire life seems to be changing with rapidity, it's somewhat reassuring to know that my heart has remained true.

A fine start

After a blip of muggy, warm weather in New York last week, the thermometer seems to have permanently dropped over the last several days. Finally -- the leaves in Central Park are assuming their innate, vibrant colors, and my morning runs seem to be getting faster, longer, and easier (or at least not slower, shorter, and more difficult). At seven months into my pregnancy it’s hard to believe that running feels so good, but then again, humidity and I have never been the best of friends. I was proud to run over 11 miles on Saturday in just over nine minutes/mile, and this morning I ran almost 10K in sub-9 minute pace (even in spite of the now constant and sometimes quite uncomfortable pressure that comes with another being positioned head-down on one’s bladder). While I did pause to question the accuracy of my watch, I can accept that when the mercury hovers near freezing, I am in my best form. It must be the Canadian in me.

But this morning’s run was especially lovely for a few reasons because it reminded me of all that I have, and all that I have to look forward to. For one, Zdenek and I enjoyed a fall fondue feast last night with our friend and neighbor, Cheryl. Apparently November 1 marks the official beginning of fondue season in Switzerland, and Cheryl, who once made her home in that country, brought all of the supplies -- including 1.5 pounds of cheese -- to our apartment yesterday evening. As she stirred the gooey, aromatic fromage on my stove, I thought that there was simply no way that the three of us would be able to eat all of that cheese. But forty-five minutes later, we were scraping the bottom of the pot and feeling warm and full in our tummies. It was a fitting way to welcome in November, and I think the extra calories gave me an additional boost during my Central Park jaunt this morning.

And as I ran through the southern end of the Park this morning, I was forced to take a few detours around trucks, cranes, and bleachers. The New York City Marathon is this Sunday! I’m counting on Zdenek to get me going with a few homemade pancakes while we watch the start of the race on our long-awaited flat screen television, and then heading to the 24 mile mark in Central Park to cheer on the leaders and followers alike. More importantly, this Sunday I’ll be introducing New York’s finest foot race to two of my favorite people: my mom and sister. Their six night visit coincides not only with my sister’s birthday, but mine, too, and we have many Big Apple activities planned to celebrate.

Fondue, marathons, birthdays, and family. November is off to a tremendous start.

Running away from it all

So far, there hasn’t been too much about pregnancy that has surprised me (perhaps because I went into it with low expectations about how it would make me feel and the many discomforts it would entail). I was correct about many things: it’s not particularly enjoyable to grow increasingly larger by the week, I really do miss my nightly glass of wine, and maternity clothes are neither comfortable nor flattering. On the other hand, I guess I’ve had it relatively easy compared to some women I know or have heard about: I haven’t experienced a single bout of sickness, I have no strange food cravings or aversions, and my back doesn’t hurt (yet). Exactly six and half months in, the most unpleasant side effects with which I’ve had to deal include an unrelenting heart burn and a strange amount of peach fuzz on my stomach. (Everyone claims that the peach fuzz isn’t noticeable, but it seems to be all I notice, especially since my protruding stomach is pretty much all I can see when I look down these days.)

But the one thing that has most pleasantly surprised me about being pregnant is how great it feels to run. By this, I don’t mean that running feels particularly easy, or that I am enjoying the best running of my life. Running, unlike cycling, is significantly harder during pregnancy, likely for both physiological and psychological reasons. I’m sure it’s partly due do added weight (though not entirely, because my speed dropped early on and has since plateaued) and partly due to a pregnant woman’s innate carefulness to not push herself too hard. But whatever it is, my pace is definitely slower, and I’ve completely lost the ability to ramp up into fourth or fifth gear (and some days, first gear suits me just fine the whole way).

Despite the slower pace, though (which really just allows me to spend extra time in my favorite park), I have thus far been able to maintain better mileage than I would have previously thought possible. I ran 26.2 miles in one go at about six weeks, and since then I’ve kept up a steady tally of 25-40 weekly miles (it’s been creeping to the higher end in recent weeks with the loss of my cycling days). On most weekends I’ve put in 10-12 mile long runs and, though I occasionally have to take an extra “natural break” along the way, this isn’t much less than I would normally aim for during my “off season.” Sure, I’m running every mile more slowly than I have in years, but I don’t mind. My focus these days is on trying to maintain my fitness as much as possible; knowing that I can’t go fast, I figure that consistent, steady running is just as beneficial.

But the thing that has really surprised me is how great running feels relative to every other moment in my day. Whether I’m heading uphill, downhill, or across a flat, and even at 9+ minute miles, running feels superior to sitting, standing, or lying down. It’s strange, but true: I feel lighter and less pregnant when I’m running! My mid-section feels taught and like it’s working with me, not against me. Of course, I’ve had the occasional cramp across my lower abdomen and my bladder feels slightly compressed. But I feel much, much worse sitting at my desk trying to find a suitable way to cross my legs, or watching tv at night and struggling to breathe properly under the pressure of my stomach, or lying in bed and feeling my hips complain after being forced to bear my weight all night long.

Occasionally, especially in the last few weeks, I catch a glimpse of my shadow or reflected profile in a store window, and I can see that I look anything but my usual self. But I like to think that most of the other runners I pass every day don’t really notice, and that I blend right in with the Central Park crowd. (Certainly I’ve been fortunate to have avoided even a single comment that I “shouldn’t be doing that,” which is perhaps because New Yorkers are accustomed to seeing it all, but is also somewhat surprising since New Yorkers are not known for their ability to keep their opinions to themselves, either.) Though pregnancy has lived up to my (sometimes low) expectations in many ways, there is one consequence I never anticipated: running while pregnant is the surest way to feel anything but.

Doctor Z

I was finally given permission to post this photo that was taken a few weeks ago. I feel secure knowing that a willing and able doctor resides in my house.

Run for the girls

I recently came across this piece from Runner's World:

When Isla Lough was born, the bookies offered odds of 100-1 that the daughter of the marathon world-record holder Paula Radcliffe would one day win the Flora London Marathon. A safer bet would have been to predict that Radcliffe would give birth to a daughter. For this you can "blame" her husband.

Research suggests that male runners who cover more than 30 miles a week – as Radcliffe’s husband and training partner Gary Lough does – are more likely to father female offspring. Researchers at the University of Glasgow divided 139 male runners into three categories: those who were taking a break from running when they and their partner conceived; those who were running less than 30 miles a week when their partner conceived; and those who were running between 30 and 50 miles a week when their partner conceived.

The study revealed that the non-runners and those covering less than 30 miles a week had a 62 per cent chance of fathering male offspring – compared to the average of 51 per cent for the general population. It was a dramatically different story for the runners covering more than 30 miles a week though: only 40 per cent of their babies were boys. The researchers put this trend down to the dip in the male hormone testosterone that occurs as a result of higher running mileage.

Running might affect the sex of your children, but it might also help you conceive in the first place. "Men who run regularly and stay at a healthy weight are more likely to maintain a good sperm count than men who are obese," says Dr Roger Henderson, a GP and marathon runner. Henderson does issue one warning: "Male marathon runners do not appear to have reduced sperm counts, although exercise that consistently heats the testicles, or which requires very tight-fitting shorts, such as cycling, may not help."

(Just for fun, I looked up the bio of Haile Gebrselassie, widely regarded as the best distance runner of our time. Turns out he has four kids: three girls and one boy. Then I checked Meb Keflezighi, another distance superstar and winner of last year's New York City Marathon: two daughters, and a third one is on the way.)

I don't know whether our +1 is a boy or a girl, and neither Zdenek nor I really care one way or the other. But it's interesting to note that we were at the peak of our marathon training and running well over 40 miles per week when the +1 first came into existence. (More importantly, we hadn't yet transitioned into our "very tight-fitting" cycling shorts, either!)

No cancellations

At this time last year, it seems that I often wrote about a desire to cycle as much as I possibly could because I knew that the fall could turn to winter at any moment. It’s only two weeks into September and thus far the temperatures have been near-perfect: cool mornings, warm days, and plentiful sunshine (except during Monday morning’s mucky ride and Monday night’s drizzly run, but those are different stories). It will probably be at least another month before a cycling jacket and booties won’t suffice to keep me warm during a morning ride. Unfortunately, there’s another clock ticking away that compels me to cycle as much as I can, because who knows when I’m simply going to be unable to reach my handlebars anymore?

So far, though, it’s been smooth sailing, and I can’t really complain. (Zdenek, of course, feels that I complain way too much, but I did that before I got pregnant, so I can’t imagine why things should change for the better now that I’m hauling around a baby-to-be 24/7.) I am still running and cycling as much as I would ever want to, and enjoying it equally well. (This morning, I even managed a full loop of the Park in sub-9 minute miles, which is a pretty decent pace for me these days!) And even when I eventually can’t cycle anymore, I know this will probably be a good thing, because it should free up a few additional mornings each week for some much-needed rest.

When I found out I was pregnant a few weeks before my Rhode Island marathon, the first thing I purchased was a book on exercising during pregnancy. I chose a scientific, well-researched book -- despite its 1980s photos -- written by a leading physician in the field who pioneered studies on the effects of exercise on pregnancy, childbirth, and maternal and fetal health. I read the book cover-to-cover in a single evening and still refer to it from time to time. Happily, everything I read reinforced that the best possible thing I can do is exercise frequently, intensely, and especially in a weight-bearing activity (i.e. opting for running instead of swimming). As one reviewer of the book quipped, “If women couldn’t exercise strenuously throughout pregnancy, the saber-toothed tiger would have finished off our species a million years ago. Finally a book that confirms this.”

Study after study in this book details that women who exercise (frequently and intensely) throughout the duration of their pregnancies have easier pregnancies and deliveries with fewer interventions and complications, give birth to leaner (but not underweight) babies, gain less weight themselves, and go into labor, on average, 5 to 7 days earlier than non-exercisers (this may, though, mean a Christmas baby, which is the only thing worse than a New Year’s baby). The catch, however, is a big one: women who stop exercising at some point during their pregnancies not only lose the aforementioned benefits, but are actually often worse off than those who never exercised at all!

I’m thus approaching December 31 as my goal event. Having run a marathon in my first trimester and kept up my cycling and running 6 to 7 times per week since then, I really need to avoid slacking at this point lest my performance suffer horribly when I make it to the starting line. I’m not, of course, blind to the reality that a million things beyond my control may curb even my best efforts in this regard and that all of this will become increasingly difficult as I become increasingly large. I also know that even a dedicated running regimen is hardly a guarantee for a trouble-free delivery (case in point: Paula Radcliffe’s first delivery, which she documented in some gory detail in an issue of Runner's World a couple of years ago).

But for now, I need all of the pleasant fall weather I can get to make running and cycling as easy and enjoyable as possible, for as long as possible. More so than for any other training I've done, it really is a case of needing to finish what I started. While the ultimate date of the event is subject to change without notice, it definitely observes a strict no-cancellation policy.

Don't trash it

Since moving into our new apartment almost one month ago, Zdenek and I have been on a bit of a home furnishing frenzy. In fact, we’ve made so many big-ticket purchases in the last while that my bank has put a freeze on my credit card not once, but twice, assuming fraudulent activity. But Zdenek and I have been living like students for years -- despite the fact that our student days are but a distant memory -- and so unfortunately everything we’ve purchased thus far has really been a first-time acquisition after five years of dorm-like living: bedroom furniture (which allowed us to throw away the plastic storage boxes we’ve been using in place of drawers, and to place our mattress on a bed, rather than the floor); a kitchen table (that is quite a big bigger and definitely nicer than the poker-table-sized piece of junk off which we’ve been dining); a flat-screen TV (replacing our beloved 1995 Sony Trinitron); and a wall unit (providing a place for our new TV and storage space to boot). Though we still have a few more purchases to make (and let’s not even think about where the +1 is supposed to go), the apartment is beginning to approach something resembling the dwelling of two thirty-somethings.

Because most of our previous furniture was (a) IKEA, (b) plastic or pine, and (c) terribly ugly, we’ve been throwing most of it away rather than attempting to make a few bucks by selling it to real students. The other night, though, after we made the decision to buy a new dining set, I figured I might as well advertise the IKEA kitchen cart that has served as extra counter space for the past five years. I put together a nice photo, wrote a few lines of text, and posted the ad on Craiglist. Within 20 minutes, I had received three inquiries from people wishing to pick it that same evening, and at 10 pm, no later than three hours after posting the ad, my kitchen cart was wheeled away by two young girls who trekked up from Gramercy to collect it.

Even more surprisingly, up until a day ago, I received a total of 20 or more emails about this kitchen cart. I finally decided to delete the ad altogether; it was so far buried in the Craiglist classifieds that I couldn’t even find it, so I'm not sure how everyone else was managing. (Apparently, kitchen carts are a hot commodity in Manhattan apartments, and if I should ever be in need of work, I think I know just the line of business to enter.) This whole ordeal made me laugh because we paid $99 for that thing five years ago, and although it was still in good condition, it wasn’t really anything special. But when I was on the phone with the girl who ended up buying it, she enthusiastically described it to her roommate as “AWESOME.” I guess it’s true what they say: one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

That proverb applies these days not only to furniture, but to my running, too. While my cycling remains solid (it seems less affected by the extra being I’m toting around), my running has definitely been slower-going for the past four months. I’m managing to keep up with my mileage (and, combined with my biking, haven’t had or wanted a rest day in two weeks), but I’m simply not able to make my paces of a few months ago: my comfortable 8-8:15 min/mile run has morphed into an 8:45-9:00 min/mile jog (and is even slower when the weather is particularly scorching). And yet, I am amazed that I am passing plenty of men and women on every loop. Speed is definitely relative.

I may not be as fast as I would like right now (though hopefully I will be at some point again in the future), but at least I’m moving and am still doing so at a respectable pace. I realize that, just as I was smart enough to not trash my kitchen cart, I shouldn’t be so quick to trash my running. It is still, after all, AWESOME.

Relief

Last week, during our vacation in Western Canada, I was able to put in a marathon training effort. I ran a cumulative total of 45 miles over seven days, a sum that ranks up with some of my longest training weeks at the peak of my marathon plans, and despite the fact that there is no race in my future. Remarkably, though, it felt wonderful, liberating, and mostly easy. After trudging through three months of sticky, searing hot weather in the Big Apple, the cool mountain air and sunny, crisp mornings were a welcome relief.

I was shocked to find that, outside of New York City and even at a much higher altitude, my pace per mile dropped a solid minute. Although I had to confirm it several times on mapmyrun.com to truly believe it, it gave me some hope that perhaps I haven’t permanently lost whatever speed I may once have had. Indeed, last night after work Zdenek and I ran almost five miles in 31 degree heat, and my pace was once again tortoise-like. I hadn’t fully recovered when we headed out for a ride this morning, and I spent the first two laps drafting off Zdenek 95% of the time. Yep, it helps to have a strong training partner who can carry the load.

I’ve always gravitated towards spring marathons because, frankly, I don’t see how anyone can train properly through the summer months. (I did run the NYC marathon in November 2008, but I cut my preparation from 17 weeks to five.) Looking ahead, I’m not sure whether I’ll be able to run a race this coming spring, though I’d sure love to try. As several people now know, Zdenek and I will be +1 come 2011, and this will impact my ability to train to a degree that I can’t quite yet comprehend. Fortunately, with eight marathons and several more halfs under my belt, I feel like I can finally enjoy running for running’s sake, rather than needing to prove anything to myself.

Perhaps this newfound contentment will relieve any pressure to meet a particular time goal when I do eventually pick my next race in 2011 (if anything, the number “9” in front of per-mile pace has started to feel strangely normal). Or perhaps I'll switch tactics altogether and combine my passions into one by training for my first triathlon. But as for the +1, he/she already has already completed one marathon -- a feat that took me almost 27 years to tackle. It turns out that, as in cycling, running is definitely easier when someone else carries you along.